


Fae Friends

by peony_princesa



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Friend's prompt, Gen, Warden Carver Hawke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 22:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16503689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peony_princesa/pseuds/peony_princesa
Summary: Grey Warden Carver Hawke is making his way through the free marches, far from home and in poor spirits when he comes across someone who needs his help.You know Hawkes; they're shaped like friends.





	Fae Friends

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wufei_W](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wufei_W/gifts).



Carver’s shoulders sagged as he trudged through the mud of the mountain path, his hair wet from the constant drizzle of rain that had persisted over the last three days. He’d spent the morning and most of the afternoon hunting for small game, but hadn’t had any luck. He still had some stale bread in his rucksack and a few wild plums he’d gathered a day before, but his rations were slim and it would soon become a problem. 

Such was the life of a Grey Warden; most days spent in solitude, roaming from town to town recruiting and killing darkspawn wherever he found them. Occasionally he’d encounter other Wardens, but such occurrences were rare, and he preferred his own company anyway.

It was too bad that he’d never made the effort to be proficient with a bow; a skill like that would serve him well right about now, he thought _“If I were a mage like Marian or dad, this wouldn’t be a problem.”_ he grumbled. Not that he actually wanted a mage’s power; such “gift” - if you even wanted to call it that - was dangerous, and was more likely to get you killed than help, and if you were strong enough to resist possession, there were plenty of people who would want you dead if you weren’t careful. _“Nah, I don’t want to be a mage, but I better learn a more useful way of hunting if I’m going to survive; this sword just doesn’t cut it sometimes. Heh,”_ he chuckled to himself _“cut it.”_ Then he groaned _“That’s exactly the kind of joke Marian would make. Andraste’s bloody tears, my sister’s stupid sense of humor is still rubbing off on me, even when I haven’t seen her in a year. I’m sure she’d have some idiotic way of finding food in a situation like this. Probably suggest we start by lighting something on fire, she did always love to cause a scene. Even in the middle of nowhere.”_

He continued his trek, looking for any cave or outcropping of rock that would serve as good shelter for the night; the sun was still out, but with the clouds and miserable weather, he knew it would disappear faster than usual and he didn’t want to be caught out in the open after dark.

His thoughts wandered as he went, wondering how his family was faring in Kirkwall; hoping that Hawke was keeping their mother safe and staying out of trouble, well, as much as possible considering trouble stuck to Marian like a shadow. He was soon so deep in thought, that he was totally oblivious to his surroundings, not even the water dripping off his hair and down the back of his neck bothered him anymore. He continued like that for some time, until a sound shook him out of his reverie; he wasn’t even aware of what the sound was at first, merely aware that something had interrupted his thoughts. Standing still in the middle of the path, he looked around, taking a minute to get his bearings and noticing that the sky had gotten darker in the last few minutes. 

_“Maker, of course it’s getting dark while I’m not paying attention,”_ he grumbled, and as he noted the increasing urgency of finding shelter, he heard the noise again; he determined that it was a voice, and although it wasn’t using any words that he recognized, the sound of it conveyed the emotions of fretful worry with a slight undercurrent of fear.

Knowing that the closer it got to dark, the more darkspawn would be roaming the hills, he knew he shouldn’t take the time to investigate but, possessing the innate Hawke curiosity, he began to look around for the source of the voice. 

Leaving the path, Carver began looking behind rocks and under the surrounding bushes, even looking up into the tall trees that reaching up toward the darkening gray sky. After searching for a while and turning up empty handed, he decided to go back to the path and, turning around, spotted a dim glow coming from just up the hillside from where he stood. Squinting his eyes, he saw that the light was coming from the base of a boulder several yards away.

 _“It’s a damned spirit isn’t it?”_ he thought _“The thing probably strayed too far from the veil and is trying to lure in wayward mages. Not much chance of that out here, fortunately.”_ He turned to go back to the path once more, but a scrabbling sound from higher up the mountainside caught his attention. Instinctively ducking behind a rock, Carver watched as a hurlock came into view from behind a copse, and began stumbling its way down the hill.

 _“Shite.”_ Carver swore under his breath. This wasn’t the kind of trouble he needed right then, and he was inclined to just wait it out until the darkspawn went on its way; these things traveled in pairs and small groups often enough that he didn’t want to risk a confrontation that late in the day.

As he watched, he saw that the creature was moving at a slant, shambling toward the soft glow of light that Carver had presumed to be a wayward spirit. _“Now that’s interesting,”_ he thought _“never seen a darkspawn take an interest in a spirit before. Must be something drawing it in.”_

The hurlock was swiftly closing the distance between it and its goal, when Carver heard the strange voice again, but significantly louder, and overwhelmingly full of a desperate panic. His eyes were drawn to the place again, and as he stared, trying to catch a glimpse of the spirit, wondering why it didn’t just move on and away from the darkspawn, a small face popped into view. There was nothing human about the face he saw, and if he had had to describe it in that moment, he would have said that it resembled that of a rabbit, though its eyes possessed an intelligence that he’d never seen in the eyes of an animal before, eyes that were filled with terror.

Swearing under his breath, Carver leaped from his hiding place and shouted at the hurlock, seizing its attention and making it forget its original target, as it lumbered down the hill toward him. Carver braced himself as the darkspawn bore down on him, noting that while his opponent had the high ground, he could strike harder. He’d killed enough of the foul creatures that he could read their movements, and anticipate where and how they would attack  
.  
As he predicted, the hurlock attacked with a downward slash of its weapon as it reached him, a blow that he easily deflected and, shifting his body weight to the side and throwing his shoulder behind his return blow, he struck hard in a sideways swing of his blade, catching the hurlock at its knee, causing it to buckle immediately.

Not waiting for the thing to recover, Carver followed up his first blow with an upward swing of his sword that connected with the base of the hurlock’s skull, under its ear, lopping off its head.

Taking a moment to catch his breath, Carver listened for any sign that more darkspawn were on the way, and after a while, when he neither heard nor felt the presence of any more of the creatures, he turned to the small creature that had been the cause of the incident.

As he crouched down by the boulder, Carver could see that the little thing had wedged itself as far under its boulder as it could and was peering out at him fearfully.

“It’s alright, thing’s dead.” Carver said gruffly as he rose to his feet, unsure of how much the little creature could understand.

Communication was apparently no barrier, as it squeaked happily and crawled partway out of its hiding place, revealing a large fluffy tail, and two feather-like antennae sprouting out of its head that wiggled animatedly, giving off a glowing dust - the source of the light - as it made its happiness clear.

“Well alright then, I’ll be going.” Carver said, turning to leave.

The creature gave several panicked squeaks, obviously alarmed by his departure.

“You’re safe now, I have to go.” he told it, annoyed by the way it was staring at him, eyes wide and nose quivering.

Whimpering, the creature continued to stared at him, clearly in need of something, but lacking the words to communicate it.

“Are you hungry?” Carver dropped his rucksack off of his shoulder and rummaged around until he found the loaf of near-stale bread, his last food, and broke off a piece, laying it next to the creature and once again rising to his feet “That’s all I’ve got, sorry.” he told it before backing away again.

The little animal gobbled up the bread greedily before making little barking noises, as if it were calling after him.

Carver looked over his shoulder at it “I did all I can to help you. Risked my neck for you, too. Nothing more I can do.” 

It made little yipping noises, it’s voice again sending emotion rather than decipherable words.

Frowning, Carver answered “You’re lost? How am I supposed to help you go home? I don’t know where you live. I don’t even know what you are.”

The little creature chattered away, finding it easier to express itself.

Carter frowned “Take you with me? No. I’m a Grey Warden, we kill darkspawn every day, and that thing was after you. You don’t want to come with me, and I can’t spend all my time looking after you. End of discussion.” He turned on his heel and made his way back down to the path. 

Not five minutes after he had made it back to his previous place on the path when he heard a soft murmuring coming from behind him. Sighing in frustration, Carver turned around, ready to launch into a lecture about how he didn’t need to be weighed down by looking after a defenseless creature. 

The words died on his lips as he took in the sight: he hadn’t seen the creature in full view before, it had been backed up against the rock, but now as it shuffled its way toward him, he saw why it had been hiding in the first place. As it made its way along, he saw a beautiful silky wing - not unlike the antennae on its head - folded over its back, while its twin trailed limply in the mud behind it, clearly broken.

Carver dropped to his knees in the muddy pathway, all annoyance vanished. “What are you doing??” he asked, gathering it up in his arms “You’re going to hurt yourself even more!”

The creature chirped happily and nuzzled into the crook of his arm, settling into its new perch.

Sighing resignedly, Carver shook his head “Fine, you can come with me, but if we don’t find shelter soon, we’re both out of luck.”

Luck seemed to be on their side, for as soon as he said it, Carver spotted a small alcove in the side of a great coulder, its opening shielded by three large pines. Ducking into the small cave, he found that its soft floor of dirt was covered in a thick layer of pine needles. Gathering up a small pile of the needles, he was about to pull out his flint and tinder when his new friend, who he had let down on the floor, gave a flick of its tail, lighting the needles up in a healthy flame.

“Well look at that.” he murmured to himself as it sat next to the fire, looking very pleased with itself.

“That’s quite a useful trick,” he told it, “now can you flick that tail and get us some food?”

It ignored him, preferring to preen its antennae with its forepaws.

“Come here.” he told it, and reached out pulling it close “I think I can fix that wing.”

It let him place it on his knee and inspect its injury, seemingly unbothered by the attention.

Using pine needles and string from the hem of his shirt, Carver fashioned a makeshift splint and fitted it to the injured wing after setting it properly.

“There. I don’t know anything about your wings, but that should let it heal properly.”

His new friend rubbed against his knee like a cat, ,aking little mewling sounds before curling up next to the fire.

As much as he had protested bringing the strange creature along with him, Carver couldn’t help but feel glad that he had; it was nice having the company, he admitted to himself. Reaching into his rucksack for the last of the bread and plums, he felt something hard. Turning the sack upside down and shaking it out, he was dumbfounded when out rolled a chunk of hard cheese, some fresh bread, and a sausage.

“Where in Andraste’s name did this come from? Did you do this?” he asked, turning to the lump of fur curled up to the still burning fire, and finding it slumbering away, letting out occasional happy purring sounds.

“Well, it appears I’m being looked out for after all.” he said, the side of his mouth curling up in a half smile. “I guess you can stick around for a while after all.”

**Author's Note:**

> A short story I did for my boo who I asked for a prompt and she gave me Carver meeting a lost fairy and reluctantly helping them out, because that's what Hawkes do, no matter how begrudgingly.


End file.
